The Director
by somedayangeline
Summary: Musings on J. Edgar Hoover  Meant to be taken as fiction only
1. Chapter 1

_1. Luck_

J. Edgar Hoover doesn't believe in luck. Well, not strictly.

_Spit in one hand, wish in the other - then see which fills up faster. _Whoever said that, was right.

Not that most people believe it. Pennies flung into fountains or plucked from the sidewalk. Rabbits' feet. Four leaf clovers.

But he, personally, doesn't.

When he goes to races - which he often does - and bets - which he frequently does - he always calculates the odds, then double-checks, and then, only then, places his bet.

Luck depends on your perspective. And it's fickle. There are a thousand and one things that can prevent your horse from winning. The heavens could open in concert with the in gates. A horse could stumble and cause a pile up. Things that nobody sitting in the stands can control.

Clyde only bets on a sure thing, when he bets at all. He wonders sometimes, if that's why he took the job - and why he stays.

His mother doesn't approve of betting period. She sometimes infers that he's becoming dependent on it. But it's _not _an addiction; it's merely a pastime, and a much needed break from work. There's nothing at all strange about it, just as there's nothing unnatural about his relationship with Clyde. He's just lucky to have him as a friend.

That's all.


	2. Chapter 2

_2. Ambition_

His mother always told him that he would be extraordinary one day. Special. Powerful. A man of note.

He believed her. Why wouldn't he? And he's done his best to live up to her words.

If it's true that everyone's a work in progress, well, it's also true that some people are much farther along than others.

Maybe some people are born with ambition while others have the fire lit by someone else, but he respects both types. The ones he doesn't get are people without any apparent signs of ambition. What is wrong with them? How can they possibly be content to wallow in mediocrity?

_You either improve or you deteriorate _is his motto. In his experience, most people, when they're forced to perform at an exceptional level do the latter. Some, if he's honest, surprise him. Not many do.

You can conceal ambition from the casual eye, and sometimes it's best to do so - but it's impossible to maintain permanently. Demonstrating ambition means that you're going to eventually stand out. Even the most oblivious higher-up will eventually realize that you're there on weekends and late nights, as well.

He sees a lot of power plays and jockeying for position, now that he's a higher-up himself, it's his job to separate the pretenders from the real deals. It's not hard. He just looks for the ones who remind him of him.


	3. Chapter 3

_3. Order_

"_A place for everything, and everything in its place_."

He doesn't remember when he first heard someone say that, but it stuck with him from

an early age. Even as a kid, he couldn't sleep properly until everything was put away. He'd block out the sound of his parents fighting downstairs and make sure absolutely all loose ends were tucked away.

Some people seem not to mind living in the midst of a mess, but he doesn't understand them at all, in fact regards them as alien (read inferior) life forms.

When he was little, he pictured God having a giant room full of files on everyone. Exactly how He managed to accumulate all that data - especially since it would have to be the most complex filing system ever invented - was hard to imagine but fascinating.

By now, he has accumulated quite a bit of data on the pivotal movers and shakers of this country - as well as some international figures. His system is coming along nicely, but of course, there's much more work to be done, facts to be accumulated, secrets to be secured. Everybody - even the most seemingly pure - has a skeleton; if you come up empty-handed, it just means you're not trying hard enough.

Sometimes he has nightmares about break-ins, and they're even worse than the ones he used to have about having to take an exam when he hadn't been to class the entire year.

He doesn't know why he needs order; doesn't care. He just does.


	4. Chapter 4

_4. Speed_

People are always telling him to slow down. This afternoon, for instance, a court transcriber begged him to speak slower because she couldn't keep up. But it's not _his_ job to accommodate _her_.

There's a reason he talks so fast, which he'd prefer to keep secret. When he was younger, he used to stutter. He trained himself not to - and did a fair job of it - except there's always a risk that if he lets his emotions get the upper hand and is upset enough - that he'll start again. A temporary glitch but a humiliating one.

He's been to a couple of doctors about the possibility of eradicating the last traces of his speech impediment, but they all responded by telling him the same thing: that he was asking the impossible and that he should be content with how much progress he's made already.

He remembers when he got up the nerve to ask Clyde if he noticed his stutter. Clyde professed not to know what Edgar was talking about.

But he's been teased enough about the stutter not to take his current verbal fluency for granted. And having gotten to this point, he's not about to slow down and repeat himself.

He's just making up for lost time.


	5. Chapter 5

_5. Daffodil_

"Who's the lucky girl, Edgar?"

Ah. He should have known she would notice something is up. Not that there is any way of untangling these crossed wires without unspeakable embarrassment. Thus dissembling is the order of the day. Or should be. If he could just find a way to _pretend_ that his mother is right, things would improve immensely between them - and for as long as he kept up the deception. But he's never been good at that sort of subterfuge.

"There's no _girl_, Mother. What makes you think there is?"

Pause. "Well, you've been in awfully good mood lately."

"I've been getting a lot done at work." There. He knows it won't suffice, but he tries anyway.

"Oh, is _that _why?"

She thinks he's dissembling. He is, but not exactly in the way she believes.

"You're blushing."

Wonderful. "It's hot in here. I'm going to open a window."

She affects that tone he knows too well. "If you don't want to share your news with your mother, then I'm certainly not going to pry."

Right. What if he was to confess the truth - that it was his new assistant that was making him blush and sweat and stutter - and his stomach do flips every time he caught sight of the man.

_I'd rather have a dead son than a daffodil._

Completely out of the question.


End file.
